6.57: I think Stuart and my kettle are in league together. The kettle’s gone as crotchety and temperamental as a mad old timer who appears on his porch with a shotgun. And Stuart, for some reason, is refusing to type a full stop (these ones are copied and pasted from my story – this thing coming up’s a literary full stop, folks). But apart from only being able to finish sentences by Heath Robinson means, and drinking coffee made from what’s effectively a boiling water firework fountain, we’re still hobbling towards the finish line. And don’t we all bear the scars, Stuart.